King and Lionheart
by la-gatta
Summary: 100 drabbles on Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye's unspoken bond. Everything from forbidden love to loss to coffee breaks and clandestine Sunday mornings, in both AU and canon FMA:B style. (Usually G, occasionally T for violence and death, probably - eventually - M for sexual themes and scenarios).
1. New

_I hearby promise to complete the 100 themes._

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, obviously. If I did, Roy and Riza would have held hands for the entire last episode._

* * *

><p><em>1. New<br>_

* * *

><p><em>Swip. Swip<em>. The low, rhythmic tapping of impatient fingers echoed through the mostly empty office. The sun had barely risen on a promising new day, and the smell of coffee in the outer hall wafted gently in through the open doorway, creating a deceptive feeling of permeating warmth, of comfortable safety. Riza, yawning more out of boredom than from any real exhaustion, tipped the coffee into his bran-new, bone-white mug. Every morning, it was the same. Dark roast, sooty, ashen blend. Strong initial impact, but no real flavor.

As if he cared. The coffee was just for the appearance of normalcy.

"Your coffee, sir." Blunt, efficient, and to the point, as always. A new office did not warrant a new personality, nor did it require any semblance of the same sort of deception from _her_.

He smiled, and sipped lightly, mug perched almost delicately in his hands. Another deception; the Furher was anything but delicate. "Ah, thank you, Riza. A nice cup of coffee is just the thing I need in the mornings." Her name sounded new and broken in his mouth. She clenched and unclenched weary hands behind her back. _Riza_. Coming from his lips, it was hardly her name anymore

"Yes, sir".

It would only be a matter of time before the Colonel contacted her. Then, a bit longer after that before a new government could take power, hopefully with Colonel Mustang in control.

_I wonder if he remembered to bring an extra set of gloves to work this morning._

The Fuhrer's assistant: a flattering seat, to be sure. New teammates, a new list of items to attend to, a new daily routine. A new office, smelling of cleaning supplies, burnt, lifeless coffee, and frantic despair, and new boots, made from the Fuhrer's finest leather.

A promotion would make any sensible soldier happy, but here, where the air was stifled in artificial sunlight, there was a monster standing over her.  
>And this new place was <em>anything <em>but home.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AC:<strong> Riza: "No, YOU make ME a cup of tea! /slaps/"  
>Reviews are loved. <em>


	2. Broken

**Disclaimer**: I don't own FMA:B or the characters or anything. If I did, Scar would have totally tried to mother Mei, in his own weird Scar way. I see that father/daughter relationship even though they aren't anywhere near related.

* * *

><p><em>2. Broken<em>

* * *

><p>"<em>Riza Hawkeye<em>. For the _last_ time, it's_ broken_. Put it down already." Berthold Hawkeye intoned tiredly, patting very young daughter on the head and removing the wooden bird from her little hands. He sighed, bemused. Ignoring his commands, she had already began to try and put the wings back together. A low chuckle escaped his lips when Riza looked up at him expectantly, holding out her glue covered hands._ Fix it, daddy._  
>Berthold was an alchemist. A scientist. He lived in a world of absolutes, of laws that were not to be tampered with, lest you be forced to face the dire consequences. If a stray figure was out of line during his calculations, he simply crossed out the mistake and inked it back into its rightful spot. Broken jars were thrown away, cracked vials disposed of properly. Inconsistencies were swept out, inadequacies fixed by upgrading to the latest materials. He had never understood the girl's desire to fix anything and everything that was deemed by her father to be broken. He did not appreciate finding his old, shredded notes taped meticulously back together and left outside his door.<br>To him, to alchemy, "broken" was a curse, an insult, a death sentence.  
>To her, it meant survival. It meant another chance at being worth something. At being alive and useful in some better way.<p>

To her, "broken" was a _gift_.

So when the Flame Alchemist seemed to almost stare through her after dark, soul-searing nights in Ishval, she wasn't disheartened. The despair looming in his obsidien eyes did not rattle her resolve. "I'm a broken man," he murmured in a moment of crushing sorrow, laughing bitterly, despondently, overcome by tbe smell of blood that permeated every inch of their beings. Riza merely sighed, wrapping a supportive arm around his torso. "No," she murmured emphatically, pressing dry lips to dusty raven's feathers.  
>"...no. You're <em>alive<em>."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AC:<strong> _I'd like to think that when Riza was very young, Berthold tried to be an attentive father, especially after her mother died. That he grew more distant as she grew older. I'd also like to think that Riza has a penchant for "fixing" things that her dad threw out in his studies, and left little duct-tape-ed containers outside of his door that she fished out of the garbage. Berthold didn't really get it, but thought it was cute. For, like, a month._  
><em>I just have a lot of feelings about Berthold and Riza okay<em>_

_Reviews are always appreciated. Even flames. Just not the kind that destroy ships._


	3. Hope

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA:B or any of the characters I just like to put them in whatever situations strike my fancy and let them lose to wreck havoc._

* * *

><p><em>3. Hope<em>

* * *

><p>"…and <em>what<em>", Riza asked, malice dripping from ever syllable, tapping her gun grip with rising impatience, "e_xactly, do you think you're doing?_"

_Trick question_. Obviously guilty, the criminal gulped. He could feel the heat creeping over his features as he childishly attempted to hid behind floppy black forelocks. For such a beautiful woman, the threat of Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye's wrath sent even Major Armstrong running in primal fear. Mustang claimed that it was honestly nothing more than a case of mistaken lunch identity, that he had let his growling stomach override other survival instincts, but in reality, he had been hooked on Riza's cooking ever since the unit picnic last July. Regardless, Hawkeye was known not to sympathize with anyone who broke one of the many unspoken office codes, and number one was _do not touch Hawkeye's food_.

…something that Roy Mustang knew far too well. He could only hope she was feeling merciful.

He swallowed the last bit of roast-beef-and-swiss-on-rye before attempting a small grin, mustard stains making a proverbial scarlet letter on his jacket. A cocky glint appeared in his eyes.

"Oh, Lieutenant. There you are. I hope you know that you have _excellent _taste."

The Lieutenant, in excellent taste, merely smiled and clicked the safety off her gun.  
>The Great Flame Alchemist, in healthy fear, whimpered.<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's comments:<strong> ...in which Roy's eyes are bigger than his stomach which is bigger than his brain._  
><em>Silly Roy, you can only share Riza's lunch if you offer her something in return! Like maybe a back massage! Equivalent exchange, man!<em>

_Reviews are appreciated. I want to be better for you!_


	4. Quills

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA:B. If I did, Izumi would teach Yoga on the weekends._

* * *

><p>4. Quills<p>

* * *

><p>He was going to find whoever had convinced him that porcupines were friendly. He was going to find them, and <em>he was going to kill them.<em>

"It really doesn't hurt that badly, Mustang," Riza commented with forced nonchalance. She didn't move, though. She couldn't. Sores, left by quills that were moments ago embedded in the bottoms of her feet, prevented any attempts at a quick retreat. Watching her trembling chin, he suspected she had to hate being rendered immobile even more than she despised being doted on.  
>"Do you want Berthold to think I'm totally useless? He'll kick me out for letting you get beat up by a porcupine." The damp rag found its way to her heel, soaking away any residual aches. It was a pathetic attempt at helping her feel better, he was sure, but Roy felt personally responsible for the girl's well-being. Squeezing her hand, he yanked the last quill from her soft, little feet. "You didn't have to follow me, though. I would have been fine."<br>Riza grimaced at the sudden pain. "But you'd never seen a porcupine before, and those boys had convinced you that the quills were soft and that they made good house-pets. Though I don't get how you could _believe_ that in the first place, you know they're mad that you got chosen as his apprentice, so really, anything they tell you is probably some form of sabotage...and you need your hands for alchemy, so if they had gotten injured by the quills, father would have kicked you out anyway for being useless. I'm not important enough for him to worry about, so it's really better tha–"  
>"Okay, <em>okay<em>, fine." Sighing heavily, he began to wrap the offending wounds. Hopefully, there wasn't an infection. "And as a result of all that, you followed me and _kicked the porcupine away from me_ before I could grab it. Thanks, I guess. I still wish you hadn't have gotten hurt, though."  
>"...wait," He looked up, questioningly, meeting tense, amber eyes. "Did you say you're not important?"<p>

The adamant stare faded and was hidden behind thick golden eyelashes. "Well, he doesn't _need_me, and I'm not good at alchemy, so yes. It's not a big deal."

Roy stared at her incredulously before cupping her pale cheeks in wet hands. "Don't say that."  
>"Don't say w-"<br>"That you're unimportant. I think you're important."  
>Midnight black settled on a honey-wheat field. Riza struggled for a moment against the sudden embrace, but Roy refused to pull away. "We're <em>friends<em>. I don't care what your father thinks." He said firmly.

"You're important. _You're important to me_."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Comments:<strong> LITTLE ROY AND RIZA -screams- Y U SO CUTE THO._  
><em>I didn't have Riza call Roy "Mr. Mustang", because this was presumably before he left for the military. I feel like she probably started calling him that after he returned from training as a symbol of how far she felt from him all of a sudden. Cries.<br>Before that, it was probably "hot-head" and "horse-boy"._

_Reviews are appreciated. _


	5. Doorway

_**Disclaimer:**If I owned FMA:B, Roy would have been on Dancing with the FMA stars._

* * *

><p><em>5. Doorway<em>

* * *

><p><em>~~~~~<br>OFFICE MEMORANDUMS_

_** Remember: keep the memos  
><strong> appropriate and work-related.<br>** the function of this board is  
><strong>to maximize efficiency.<strong>******_

_** Also, Hawkeye is watching.  
><strong>_  
><strong><em> Sincerely,<em>  
><em>Colonel Mustang. <em>**

Colonel Mustang,  
>Sir, the documents on the right of your desk are of the utmost priority. If you could, please attend to that pile before the blue slips and transfer requests. Additionally, Havoc has started another betting pool about <em>us<em>, which must be dealt with accordingly.  
>Lieutenant Hawkeye.<p>

_E -_

_Flame of my life, if_

_I could but look upon you,_

_I would want for naught_

_- R_

Colonel,  
>You're sitting right next to me. At your desk, as a matter of fact, right in front of that giant pile of paperwork that needs your signature. Writing me ridiculous haikus in bad humor, filled with horrible puns, and leaving them tacked to the doorway for all to see is just a waste of time and energy.<br>Lieutenant Hawkeye

_E -_

_But, dearest little bird,_

_you hath given me new eyes,_

_I see your fair smile_

_- R  
><em>

Colonel Mustang,  
>I'm smiling because I'm thinking of all the different guns I'm currently carrying. Keep that in mind while you continue to neglect your work and spew out idiotic fluff. Shouldn't you be writing this for Jeanne or Mary-Ann? I'm sure they'd appreciate your use of monosyllables. If they can read them.<br>Hawkeye

_E -_

_Oh, darling, you have_

_warmed my cold heart with your love!_

_Soothed my pains with your tender embrace!_

_My heart burns for you alone!_

_All others pale beside your amber eyes and firey tongue!_

_I shall lay in a hurricane if it would prove the burning passion!_

_Triumphantly, I will shout my love for you from mountaintops!_

_- R  
><em>

Roy,

Get down off your desk

That was not a haiku, I

hope you like the couch.

_- Elizabeth_

P.S. – I have five firearms, and you have a five second head start.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AC:<strong> headcannon: Roy likes sappy soppy poetry and horrible metaphors and calls Riza the flame of his heart. Then she elbows him in the stomach and kisses his forehead for being an idiot._

Also, sorry the format is a little funny on this one. I didn't know how to structure the notes logistically. ^-^'

_Reviews are loved._


	6. Breathless

_A big thank you to Arianette and Randr for reviewing! I really appreciate it, guys. -hugs-_  
><em>(Btw, the dancing with the stars is going to happen. Look for it later.)<em>

_**Disclaimer:** FMA, in no way, shape, or form, belongs to me. If it did, there would have been a spin-off series that focus entirely on Roy & co._

* * *

><p>6. Breathless<p>

* * *

><p>In a world where nearly nothing was certain, where each minute alive was a gift, and where new horrors revealed themselves in every sleepless night, moments of peace had to be savored. For a few blissful hours every Saturday morning, Riza allowed herself to relax. She still rose fairly early – old habits are hard to break – but instead of lacing cold, glistening boots over rough, military-issue cornflower pants, she tugged her worn tennis shoes out of the back of the closet, pulling a soft, summer sweater over bare skin. Hayate and Riza had developed a habit over the past months of walking together in the community park in downtown Central. Unable to relax in her own, too-quiet, home, the park was far enough away from Headquarters that Hawkeye was able to find solace in the natural hideaway. In the hushed sound of Hayate's steps on the dusty path. In the little, scattered, gentle callings of brush-birds and spring toads. The small noises were centering, reminders that her feet were still planted firmly on the earth, that the world was continuing its rotations regardless of what the silly and infinitesimally small humans did to one other over politics. A complete silence would afford too much time for introspection, for regret.<p>

And in Riza's line of work, there was no time for regret.

It is a gift, then, a lucky, greedily accepted boon, that she has Saturday mornings off. Sometimes, though, there were more than two sets of footprints left in Central Park. Roy always goes to work on Saturdays, but, inclement weather or not, you can be certain the Flame Alchemist will willingly abandon his post for an hour in favor of wandering off into the park, following signs only he could decipher, a call only he could hear. If you were patient, you would see two figures in the distance, emerging on the hill farthest away from the command headquarters, hands intertwined, as another small silhouette ran circles in the fresh air. No one was certain if they rose over the gentle hill and disappeared into the blinding sunshine, or returned to the forest after gazing over the fields. On the first Saturday, Havoc was sure he had seen a shared kiss, but Fuery dismissed it as a trick of the light. Breda blamed it on an illusion developed by working long hours, and Fallman merely insisted that prying would be bad form.  
>The matter is discussed every Saturday, to no avail, different theories and hypothetical answers cropping up as easily as paperwork collecting on their desks. Every Saturday, Havoc boasts that he'll ask the Colonel right out and resolve the dispute once and for all. Though every Saturday, when their superiors return with clothing askew and both slightly breathless, no one says a word.<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>AC:<strong> ...I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this one. It's...ah...yeah. I don't know. I started off with one ending in mind, and then Roy's Boys kind of headbutted their way in and took over the story._  
><em>Still love 'em to death, though. <em>

_Reviews are appreciated and loved. Let me know any way you think this can be improved, or even just say hello. _


	7. Pain

_Merci to both PhoenixNoTreble and thehawksai for taking the time to review. Thank you very much for the encouragement!_

- renewing my promise to finish all 100 themes -

**_Disclaimer:_** _If I owned FMA:B, Alphonse would play classical clarinet.  
><em>

* * *

><p>7. Pain<p>

* * *

><p>"...you know, if you had wanted some time alone with me, all you really had to do was ask."<br>"Shut up. Your sarcasm is not appreciated."  
>"Just trying to lighten the situation."<br>"Oh please. You're enjoying this."  
>It was too dark to see clearly, but the snicker tickling her ear was a give-away as to his close proximity. "Well. Why not?"<br>As was the warm body brushing hers at intervals.  
>Riza sighed, irritated. "This is <em>your <em>fault."  
>"My fault?"<br>"Yes, your fault! If you hadn't been so damn persistent – "  
>" – I think you mean <em>persuasive<em> – "  
>" – this is a <em>business environment<em> and if you can't keep yourself professional – "  
>" – <em>as if<em> you weren't thinking the same thing, making those eyes at me from across the room –"  
>" – we have <em>enough<em> to conceal already with you wanting to become Fuhrer and the possibility of military corruption without having to physically hide in –"  
>" – and <em>then<em> you had to go and take your hair down when we both know perfectly well what that does to my already limited contr– "  
>"I was <em>COLD<em>."  
>"It's <em>THE MIDDLE OF SUMMER<em>!"  
>Silence. Their breath mingled in the small space, making the already stuffy closet hotter and more unbearable with each frustrated heave. They had just entered the confined space moments ago during the beginning of their lunch hour – theoretically, a quick escape would have been easy.<br>Unfortunately, Havoc and Breda were showing no sign of vacating the room outside any time soon. Besides, emerging from the closet now would be suspicious, even if their original reasons for entering the small room in the first place were _relatively_ innocent.  
>"It's a miracle they didn't hear you shouting and come to investigate," Riza grumbled, unzipping her jacket and pinning her hair up in an attempt to cool down.<br>Roy made a pained face. "Would it really be so bad to be caught with me in here?" Feigning insult, he laid a hand on his cheek and dramatically swooned with the other. "Am really I such a destestable creature?"  
>"You missed your calling, Colonel. Ever considered switching to theatre?"<br>An indignant look crossed his features, forgetting for a moment she wouldn't be able to see his expression in the unwavering darkness. Both knew that her anxiety and his discomfort arose from the fraternization laws that would, if they were caught, be the death of them both. Metaphorical death, that is. _The punishment isn't anything more than expulsion…right?_

Roy decided they didn't need to talk about that.  
><em><br>_Having lost hope of getting out any time soon, Riza grumbled dejectedly into her hands. "All I had wanted was a shoulder rub."  
>"Just a shoulder rub?" he could imagine her no-nonsense demeanor perfectly: a sullen, bored stare, tersed lips, eyebrows drawn in frustration over the sour turn of their current predicament.<br>"Yes. _Just _a shoulder rub."  
>"I thought removing your earrings was the signal for needing a shoulder massage, not taking your hair down."<br>Hawkeye said nothing in response, but the glare she was undeniably shooting his way left a palpable tension in the air. "I told you before. I was cold."  
>He fingered the hem of her shirt before sliding off the unzipped jacket with little resistance. "Just a shoulder rub," he repeated.<br>She hummed in affirmation. "Just a shoulder rub." His own jacket was quickly dropped to the floor.  
>"And nothing else?"<br>"Nothing else."  
>"Nothing."<br>"Exactly."  
>Roy studied her outline, barely lit by the light beginning to filter in under the door, smug. "But if you're so stiff, I'm sure a full body massage would be much more helpful." Gripping her waist, he brushed warm lips over the side of her jaw.<br>He heard her breath catch in her throat, but she made no verbal response.

Perhaps he had gone too far.

They remained completely still for a moment, in a stalemate of intent, completely forgetting the delicacy of their location. The latter was unsure of the wisdom of her next move, while the former unwilling to push her somewhere she did not wish to currently go.

Warm, even exhalations tickled her ear, sending little shivers down her spine despite the present heat. Riza carded a hand through his hair before pulling him up against her in a partial embrace. "Well,"

"..AND WHAT DID MY GIRLFRIEND SAY?" voices rose from outside the door before hurried footsteps, presumably Havoc in pursuit of a beau gone awry, hastened away. Another set of more nervous feet followed – Breda, tagging along for the sake of entertainment. The outer room was empty.  
>According to reason, they could and should leave. Merely go back to their day uninterrupted, as if the past fifteen minutes hadn't occurred.<p>

Neither moved.

Riza exhaled. Gently, she cupped Roy's face in her hands and guided his lips to meet hers. It was a song they had heard before, a dance they did routinely. "Well," she repeated, tilting her head doubtfully, "I'm not sure how easy a 'full-body massage' would be in this small space. You generally tend to _avoid_ unnecessary work, but - ah..." His grip on her waist tightened. Lips left warm, simmering impressions on the back of her neck, and fingers danced up her spine, cutting off her statement of approval with low, rumbling chuckle.  
>"There's a first time for everything, <em>Lieutenant<em>."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AC:<strong>...aaaaaaaaand physical contact has been achieved, so enjoy the cotton candy fluff._

Also, I've just realized that there hasn't been any real angst so far. Our duckies have been able to fraternize in peace.  
>Hmm.<br>I'll have to change that.  
>Reviews are cherished like mint chocolate chip ice cream.<p> 


	8. Test

_**Disclaimer:** If I owned FMA, Riza would be a painter._

* * *

><p>8. Test<p>

* * *

><p>"This is a test. Repeat, this is a test. All units stand clear for final weapons initiative."<br>"Clear."  
>"Fire when ready."<p>

_Tick. Tick. Tick. Tickticktick- fffwoooomm._

A burst of static before the verdict: "Looks like a go. Tell the Furher unit 463 is ready for business."  
>"Yes, sir."<p>

If you asked any of the commanding officers, the Ishvalan conflict was just that: a conflict. A tactical nightmare. It was merely a blip on the map. They played their parts like coaches vying for a crucial game that needed to be won.

But if you asked the soldiers, the ones being moved around on the board, they would disagree. War is not a game.  
>Mortality rate is not a score.<br>There is no prize for the victor.  
>There is no distinguishable winner in war. Only death.<p>

Did they deserve to die? The Ishvalan sympathizers, the Ishvalans themselves? The martyrs? The generals who controlled the board? The soldiers following the orders? The mothers, fathers, elders? The children, playing in the bones of their city?

The questions will never end, in the after. And the war will never be over, either. Not really. Mustang's hunched form is a testament to that. It's been years since the Ishvalan "conflict", yet the screams are still fresh in his ears; blood, still warm, on his soul.

Or so Riza supposes, as she watched shudders creep up his spine. She's lost him again. Trapped in another world, one of burning sand, one of torment. Boxed within walls of fire, reality shattered by bullets. Unreachable. It's a test of patience, of fortitude, incited by the rising stress by the coming of the Promise Day, triggered by the similarities between this stakeout and the evenings in Ishval. It's all she can do to drape a cotton blanket over his shoulders and set a cup of tea at his feet. Resting a head on his shoulder is a comfort to her, barely noticeable to him. The Colonel will be back, in a moment, after the memories have exhausted themselves. Until then, they wait in mutual agony.

The war will never be over.  
>Not really.<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>AC:<strong> Attempting to handle PTSD in an appropriate manner. I loathe the fics where it's characterized as some cutesy little inconvenience. PTSD is a real affliction as a result of high-trauma scenarios. It's very real, and causes continual pain to numerous brave men and women around the world. Given the scenario, it would make sense that Roy and Riza, along with most of the soldiers, suffer from PTSD.  
><em>_Poor darlings. _


	9. Puzzle

_**Disclaimer:** If I owned FMA:B, we would have had more Miles backstory._

* * *

><p><em>9. Puzzle<em>

* * *

><p>...funny, really, how, when you love someone, you find yourself studying their every move. You watch, obsessively, memorizing every detail of their being, as if they could vanish into smoke the minute you look away. Little, insignificant things begin to matter, like the tips of their fingers, or the timber of their footsteps. Suddenly, the hollowed contour beneath their ear becomes important, the graceful line from the tip of their pinky finger to their elbow is now reminiscent of a Michelangelo's marble creation than of a living, breathing human being. You find importance in how their head barely tilts at the sound of a question, and are willing to wait, for minutes, hours, decades, seconds until the lines etched in their forehead by worry are wiped away with the relief that comes with a correct answer. It's peculiar how, when you love someone, every minuscule thing about the object of your affection becomes both wonderful and horrible to you. It isn't as if you never had noticed them before. You've noticed everything, <em>everything<em>, before, but the light has shifted. Sunlight dances through their hair, previously ridiculous Plutarchan poetry is suddenly an injust measure of their virtues. Some secret cue lies in every tiny detail of their being, composing little pieces of a puzzle you're only beginning to decipher; you fancy that, perhaps, it is one only _you_ who can unravel their mysteries, that they're hiding secrets in the folds of their heart for you alone to discover. They may be sitting only a few feet from you, but the gap created by rules, expectations, work, social standards, family, your heart, or any number of inconvenient truths, cannot be breached by writing them down in sonnets and epitaphs. You study them because you _have_ to, you _must_, you must learn their code, memorize their being...or perish. They are wonderful, you are horrible, and the curve of their soul is the prettiest thing you haven't yet laid eyes on. And when they smile at you, rarely, purely, caught off-guard by some invasion of their daydreams, you realize you'd do anything to protect that sweetness that dwells within them, even if it meant losing yourself in the process.

Riza would rather see herself become dust than watch Roy's soul splinter any more than it already has, and she is fully prepared to protect him from everything, even himself.

Even if she loses herself in the process.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> I actually wrote an earlier version of this without Royai in mind a few months ago, and then realized how perfectly it just works for them. So here is the updated drabble._

_Love paints a fog over our vision, but allows us to see more clearly than we ever had before. _  
><em>I like my reviews like I like my bath water - scalding.<em>  
><em><br>_


	10. Drink

**_Disclaimer: _**_If I owned FMA, there would be a musical portion. Probably after the bar-hopping._

* * *

><p><em>10. Drink<em>

* * *

><p>" 'Intoxicated', you say? 'S all a matter of opinion, <em>comandeer.<em> " Havoc slurred, cocking a _sa-lute_ before swigging down the last of his bourbon.  
>Fuery sighed, swirling the remaining liquid uncomfortably. He'd only been out to one of these…<em>things…<em>with the other men only a few times. So far, it hadn't become any less of a bizarre experience. He blamed it on the personalities present more than the setting. "This always happens. We all go out drinking, and you're the first one to become completely sloshed."  
>"And the first to be turned down for a dance," Breda added, raising his own glass in a toast, "and you did it of your own accord this time as well, there wasn't any Mustang to steal your girl. Nope," he grinned, liquor beginning to cloud his grammar as well, "all you, baby."<br>"Shaddap. At least I'm a happy drunk."  
>Falman coughed. More inclined to play pool until morning's light than anything else, he accompanied the rest of the team on their monthly outings due to solidarity more than any real desire to drink his troubles away. <em>Some<em>one, he figured, had to be the designated driver. "Where _is_ the Colonel?" he pondered aloud. "He usually never misses these bar nights. Not in all my years here."  
>Havoc was unconcerned by Roy Mustang's apparent absence, merely shrugging in response. It meant more girls for him, and less of an opportunity for the others to poke fun at his habitual misfortune. Though it <em>was<em> uncharacteristic of their superior to work late. "Maybe he's already found himself a nice date and turned in early."  
>"He dines in, to eat out?"<br>"Wouldn't surprise me." Another round of drinks was ordered amid the laughter of men happy to be out of the office and to forget their responsibilities for a little while longer, even in light of a missing ringleader.

Cups drained, vision hazed, Falman won his fifth game of pool as Breda lost his, and Kain still sat at the bar, content to merely be. Havoc was returning from a (susprisingly successful) dance with a pretty brunette, grinning ear to ear about his "prospects". He plunked himself down next to the youngest member of Team Mustang. "S'mthn's in the air tonight, Fuery, I'm tellin' ya." Havoc blinked, stuck in a state of foggy happiness. "She's a keeper. I can tell."  
>The communications officer was unamused, scanning the room in habitual crowd-watching. "You just like big boobs."<br>"I can't _HELP_ it, Fuery!"  
>Watching the people milling about, keeping tabs on significant individuals, monitoring behavior, it was all second nature to Fuery after being in the military and around so many varying personality types for so long. A matter or survival, really; he himself hardly noticed his own compulsion after awhile. In the current unpredictable state of things, you never knew when an unsavory character might appear. Especially now that the near indestructible Homunculi –<em> Homunculis? Homunculuses?<em> – were involved.  
>Suddenly, a familiar raven head of hair appeared in the doorway.<em> Look at that - Colonel Mustang decided to show after all. <em>"Hey, Havoc, the Colonel's here_._", he commented, nudging his slouched friend into a more upright position and gesturing at their approaching was watching as Mustang wove through the crowd - presumably to join himself and the Havoc at the bar – when suddenly, the man took a sharp left turn, and seated himself in a dimly lit corner booth, out of both the public eye and Fuery's line of vision.  
>Havoc rolled his eyes, muttering curses under his breath. "Must be meeting a woman. Show-off, arranging to bring a date <em>here<em>, during _our _little field trip." After a contemplative moment's silence, a wicked gleam appeared in the drunken Second Lieutenant's eyes. "…we should join him."  
>Fuery nearly spit out his mouthful of liquor. "We should <em>what<em>?"  
>"Join him. I'm sure he wouldn't mind sharing his date with us – it <em>is<em> men's night at the bar, you know."  
>"Are you crazy?" he blinked, dubiously. "You know how the Colonel gets about his dates. Yesterday he almost incinerated Breda when he inquired after the..ah..particulars of his evening out with some 'Elizabeth'."<br>Havoc stretched, reminding Fuery of a very full, very cocky feline. "Relax, it's not like he's going to do anything in this crowded room." Lighting a cigarette, he stood and patted Kain on the head. "Live a little, kid." He walked a few paces before turning and gesturing for him to follow, all the intoxicated stumbling vanished from his steps.

It's amazing how the promise of a near-death experience will sober a man up.

Breda fell in step with the others as they made their way to the booth. "Where're you two going in such a hurry?"  
>The grin reappeared on Havoc's face. "To join our <em>most honorable leader<em> on what is undoubtedly a hot date with a beautiful woman."  
>"A hot date in a <em>men's <em>bar?"  
>"It has to be. I mean, that's <em>obviously <em>a female. Look, the hair's hanging past her shoulders. What self-respecting guy living in a _military_ city would grow their hair past their _shoulders_?"  
>Come to think of it, Fuery mused, the hair <em>was <em>a little familiar. Long, blonde, and fairly straight, it was swept over and cascaded down her back. Certainly not the best way to avoid attention in such a location.  
>Her hands were familiar too, somehow, and, watching them fold a sheet of paper absentmindedly, Fuery stopped short as suddenly remembered of<em> another<em> set of hands he had seen fold a sheet of paper just this morning, when forging the Colonel's signature on a series of letters. Tri-folded, with the header on the outside. As a subordinate in the Armestrian military, observation is key to survival: he hadn't been wrong before.  
>It <em>couldn't<em> be.  
>"Havoc," he hissed, "Havoc, I think that may be the Lieu-"<p>

With almost feline senses, the lady in question slowly turned her head, meeting his eyes with a cool, deadly constancy. This was not the gaze of a panicked animal; this was the glare of a seasoned killer. _A hawk's eyes_, Fuery mused foggily, stopping mid-sentence. Unuttered pleas burned in his throat. Forget "flight or fight", the only impulse coursing through his veins was to _get the hell away_.

Breda and Havoc were blissfully unaware of the trap ahead, and quickly approached the table. "Our company's not good enough for you, eh Mustang? You'd think you'd – ". Ashes crumbled to the floor, glasses slipped from startled hands, clinking against the ground. "Lieutenant Hawkeye?" Breda gasped. "But…what are…" he trailed off as a very surprised, and very angry, Colonel Mustang slipped a foot out of the narrow table and planted it firmly in their direction.

Identities were lost in the ensuing mad scramble to get away. Kain grabbed Falman on the way out the door. "Where are we running to?" he asked, unruffled by their antics.  
>Breda nodded over his shoulder as they broke free of the bar and burst into a quiet alleyway, stretching in one direction directly behind the small, worn-down establishment. A single streetlight flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows in the quickly fading sunset.<br>Falman remained unimpressed. "I do not see anything worth mentioning, Breda."  
>"Whaddya mean 'you don't see anything'?"<br>"There is nothing and no one following us." he huffed. "How much have you men had to drink tonight? Probably far too much, as always."  
>Three heads whipped around the gloomy alcove, searching for any trace of their pursuers. Silence greeted them. Shadows crept over empty doorframes, a bit of wind whistled as it past through an empty garbage can.<p>

Nothing.

"Well that was stupid," Breda kicked at the trash can as the tense atmosphere disappated. They had been running for nothing, then, if the Lieutenant and the Colonel hadn't had any intention of hunting them down.  
>"I still can't believe they were on a <em>date<em>."  
>"Maybe it was a meeting about paperwork."<br>"You mean, about how _behind_ he is on it all?"  
>"I wonder if she knows about Elizabeth."<br>Nervous laughter bubbled and spilled over, filling up the empty space. "Well, if they're not following us, then I guess we had better get out of this creepy passthrough," Fuery quipped, nervously, "...nothing good comes out of being out in the dark. Especially around here."  
>Havoc clapped a hand on his back, lighting up another cigarette, the old, self-reliant smile displaying itself again on his face. "Eh, we can get out of here, if the rest of you really want. But they didn't follow us: there's not anything to be afraid of, Fuery."<br>"_Nothing_to be afraid of, Havoc?"

They say you can see God in the eyes of dead men. Minutes before departing, their eternal judgement rests in the sheen around their pupils. Heavenly acceptance, or the fear of hell's eternal fire.  
>"Did you hear that, Lieutenant? 'Nothing to be afraid of'. I'm insulted."<br>If this was hell, then Roy Mustang was the devil himself.  
>He approached slowly, Lieutenant Hawkeye following close behind, hair retied firmly, pistol drawn. Fuery gulped. Hawkeye's eyes were flinty, while Mustang's brimmed with the gleeful arrogance of a predator that knows it has won. It was then, upon feeling the pressure of a solid stone wall against his shoulders, that Fuery realized they had backed themselves into a corner. Rule no. 2: Always have a way out. <em>Yeah, that worked well.<em>  
>Breda made an attempt at peace. "Sir, we do apologize, we didn't mean any sort of harm."<p>

There was no reply. After a moment, the Colonel pulled a white glove out of his pocket and slipped it on his right had. "Lieutenant."

"Colonel."

His eyes passed over the four helpless victims hungrily. "What do you think we should do with our catch? Seeing as how they've spoiled the evening for all parties."

"In some parts of the world, the body part most likely responsible for the misdeed is removed as punishment for offenses, sir."

"Their eyes, then?"

"I would suggest their tongues."

Havoc whimpered. Breda tried to use Falman, who was sweating bullets, as a shield. Fuery merely buried his face in his hands, peeking out occasionally between shaking fingers as a result of the morbid curiosity that causes us to watch train wrecks and horror movies. _I could die right now. Die. Now. We could all die right now. I told Havoc to stop. I knew nothing good would come of this. _

Hawkeye and Mustang shared a long, knowing look. The former eventually raised an eyebrow, and the latter cleared his throat in response. "Well, gentlemen," he commented offhandly, clearly enjoying his advantage. "We'll give you a three second head start."

Falman looked up in utter disbelief. "A _what_, sir?"

"Three seconds. Starting now." The Colonel smiled. "One."

For a brief moment, no one made any motions to leave. Then, Riza clicked the safety off her gun, and in a flurry of explosive movement, the four were off and running for their lives. _Our superior officers are sadistic,_ Kain gasped, struggling to keep up._ They're sadistic, and happy about it._

"I_ told_ you this was a bad idea."  
>"Shut up. Falman, where did you park?"<br>"Oh no, _I'm_ innocent, _you_ lot can_ walk_ back to the barracks."  
>"…but I have to PEE!"<p>

Had they stayed, had they decided to gamble, perhaps chance that Hawkeye wouldn't live up to her name, nor Mustang to his reputation, they would have caught laughter on the wind; a loud, triumphant laugh, followed by a small sigh.  
>"Poor Fuery. I doubt the kid'll sleep tonight."<br>Riza tapped the safety back on to her weapon before allowing her accomplice a small smile. "In all seriousness, though, we should probably inform them tomorrow that this was an undercover assignment. That we were only at the bar in order to 'observe a possible insurgent'. "  
>" An 'undercover assignment'? Pity. I was going to go with 'weekly recap of the paperwork I didn't finish', possibly in compliment to an after-dinner special."<br>"You're incorrigible. Though, it actually might fit our story if we stayed at the bar a little while longer in order to continue to 'monitor' our 'suspect'."  
>Mustang made a short bow before gesturing to the door, a grandiose flourish. Pitching his voice a bit deeper in an attempt to return to another persona, another time, he parted his lips is what appeared to be a smirk. "Then, perhaps the lady would like a drink, Miss…?"<br>Riza smiled in return, slipping easily along with him. "It's Elizabeth. Actually."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AC:<strong> I've been wrestling with this for weeks now, and I'm still not satisfied with it. Ah, well. It did turn out to be a lot longer than I originally anticipated...and I **still** feel like it was rushed. Maybe I'll rewrite this idea, one day, into a bigger story._  
><em>But Roy's Boys are always rather delightful, aren't they?<em>

_Also...sloshed. Yes.  
><em>  
><em>Next up: "Anger".<em>  
><em>Reviews are more than appreciated.<em>

_**/EDIT: **And to all those speculations I've been receiving: YES YES YOU'RE ALL CORRECT: "dining in to eat out" means EXACTLY what you think it does.**/**_


	11. Anger

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA:B. If I did, Mrs. Bradley would have had a happier ending._

* * *

><p>11. Anger<p>

* * *

><p>Scientifically, anger is a biochemical reaction: an automated response to external negative stimuli. Intellectually, it is merely an emotion, masterable by human conviction.<br>Practically, however, it is _alive._  
>It lives and breathes in the most primitive corners of the human psyche, white-hot. Burning, blazing, blinding; searing away reason and rational thought until only impulses remain, until even conscious decisions are clouded by red impressions. Blood rushes into your skull, fueling a dizzying haze. Some become intoxicated from the scent, from the energy anger brings to their spirits: some crave, even, the tingling flood of adrenaline. It sinks into the very flesh, toxin-like, before finally staking a vicious claim on the heart. It is a rabid, frothing sensation. A crazed madness in which specifics are erased and all of conscious decision driven away until you're a slave, an animal, bowing down before the will of a higher power, before a manic and more sentient being than yourself. Anger becomes both the god and the altar, maroon-stained stones the foundation of a wicked religion.<br>Despite its power, however, it passes. Anger, by nature, is a transient beast, and as quickly as it rears its ugly head, it vanishes into a mist of denial. This hot, pounding rage is experienced daily, and, in an instant, forgotten. Casualties are considered accidents, and angry words spoken while mad with bloodlust are forgiven.

No one is held accountable, really, for what they do when they're not themselves.

But for action, there is a reaction. For every extreme, an opposite. Duality of nature is common in science, and, therefore, in both people and their emotions as well. Most forget that anger can take many forms. Yes, it has the capacity to run its course and pass with time, much like a fever. But, if not treated, it morphs rapidly into a fever your body cannot sweat out. It digs its way into the seat of your mind, festering, growing cold, anticipatory. Parasitic, it shuffles into quiet reticence, sighs, and dies, before being reborn as hatred. As a cold flame. Reason sharpens into a point, and contrary to the directionless energy in the previous, there's a premeditated tilt to the cold. You are directly responsible for your actions in every sense. It becomes a singularity of conscious focus and drive. Revenge, too, is born of a cold fire.  
>The danger of such emotional sores lies not in the primal fight-or-flight response, or in the reckless reactions, but in the icy shell that follows after the firestorm. There's a chill that settles in the bones of the afflicted after the heat has consumed itself, and a void - a black hole of emotionless waste - follows. Hatred is the biggest danger, because hatred makes you the sentient killer, and disguises all else as disposable.<p>

Here is the place at which monsters are made.  
>Monsters are not human.<br>Monsters are cold.

"_Congratulations, Colonel! You figured it out!" _Gracia Hughes melted, revealing a grotesque and wicked interior.  
><em>Envy is an ugly beast,<em> Roy thought. _But even an ugly beast can be made to suffer_.

And, with a shiver running up his spine, Roy knew what it was like to feel cold. 

* * *

><p><em><strong>AC:<strong> Roy Mustang isn't a monster. He's actually one of the characters who exhibit the most empathy and higher human thought. However, he still came very close to losing himself when Envy decided to tug him along for that emtional rollercoaster. It speaks to the fallibility of human nature. Good thing Hawkeye was there to snap him back._  
><em>...and I suppose Ed and Scar helped too.<em>


	12. Dreams

_Again, a huge thank you to everyone who's taken the time to supply feedback! I truly appreciate your criticisms and your encouragement.  
><strong><br>Disclaimer:** If I was the creator of FMA:B, I'd have given Nina a second chance at life._

* * *

><p><em>12. Dreams<em>

* * *

><p>They came nightly. Unwelcome houstguests, slithering between cracks in the doors, over rumpled bodies, into distorted concisounesses, burying themselves between yesterday's regrets and the worries of tomorrow, screaming horror-filled mind-medleys of blood, and of pain.<br>He didn't know that she kept them, hidden away in a cracked flask. She tucked them into her hair where they would sit, unseen by the day's eyes, unable to shake away her monsters before the darkness rose again.  
>Dreams.<br>They haunted her. Stole her sleep, minute by minute. In her dreams, she could still see the faces of the dead and dying, could hear the cries of children, of mothers, of babies and grandparents and the old and the young and little boys holding guns, all too young and too innocent to be tired of war, but their faces spoke of more open-eyed terrors than she could ever feel; in a thousand lifetimes, she wouldn't bear all their pain enough to fill false guilt's soul-crushing vacuum.  
>Dreams. <em>Nightmares, really.<br>_  
>The first time, it was an accident. He wasn't supposed to be there when <em>they <em>arrived unbidden. She never intended him to see her in such a state. Shock had overcome him, after stopping in one night for a surprise visit, and perhaps a cup of coffee; he stumbled at the unexpected sight of her asleep on the couch, trembling. The first time, in her sleep, she forgot that she knew him. She lashed out at unseen beasts, eyes still shut and filled with tears. Tears that burned his fingers upon tracing a finger along her jaw, still hesistant to touch her, to bring her back, because he knew as well as she did that the guilty often found sick solace in what they deemed fit punishment for their crimes. But in the end, resistance was fruitless. His hands demanded to be placed over her cheeks, and his arms begged to be wrapped around her still shaking, sleeping, sweaty shoulders.  
>Since that night, he returns to her side often, claiming to merely enjoy spending more time in her company. He often suggests, with a smile on his face and an eyebrow cocked playfully, that he merely enjoys the tea she brews the morning after. He'd never tell her it was because he felt responsible for her demons. Sometimes, after they come and go, she buries her head into his chest, still asleep, as the same hot tears stream down her face. Sometimes she awakens, terrified and embarrassed, and has to be coaxed back to his side, reassured that it is indeed okay to need something, or someone, to cling to. He doesn't press her. Watching her writhe, shouting for unnamed faces and pointing to her haunters…it haunts him, too. Roy Mustang feels as helpless as a child, seeing his unsinkable Riza Hawkeye drowning in a sea of sheets and agony. But in the end, he is always there. He's glad he found out that she had nightmares like he does.<p>

She gives him safe days. It's the least he can do, he figures, to try and give her safe nights.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AC:<strong> I have so many feelings that they might all just burst out of my brain and take over my fingers when I try to write anything related to Riza and Roy and angst.  
>Oh wait,<br>I think they just did._


	13. Reunion

_Disclaimer: If I owned FMA, each volume of the manga would be sold with free tissues._

* * *

><p><em>13. Reunion.<em>

* * *

><p>He had ached to be with her again, but not like this.<br>Never like this.  
>"Riza..." Shaking fingers found pale lips, feeling small wisps of air leak rhythmically from between their embrace.<p>

The blood was warm.

She was cold.

* * *

><p><em>AC: Sorry.<em>

...not really.


	14. Alternate Realities

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am merely a poor and stressed IB student who would have made Greedling sing "When You're Evil" in the credits.__**  
><strong>_

* * *

><p>14. Alternate Realities<p>

* * *

><p>In the shadowy aftermath of Hughes's murder, a copy of his blood-stained family portrait quickly found a home on Roy Mustang's cluttered desk. Deemed morbid by some and overly sentimental by others, it remains a dark reminder of how truly <em>cruel<em> the world is - and of the indiscriminent destruction wrought by evil. All of Colonel Mustang's goals, ambitions, and vows are fueled by Maes's now fixed smile, by bitter encouragement to not allow the death of a good man become meaningless.  
>Though recently, it has triggered the unfurling of other notions in Roy's hurting, lonely heart. In another world, <em>they<em> might have had a chance at that, too. At happiness.

At a family.

Somewhere, the circumstances are different. He's sure of it. Somewhere, Roy, Riza, and Maes may not have been sent to Ishval; the country's leaders are not corrupt. Perhaps the country isn't have been at war, period. Perhaps fraternization laws aren't a problem either._ Alternate realities are funny like that,_ Roy muses, idly setting a ink-blotched document aflame,_ anything is possible._ Wishful thinking is only for dreamers and the mourning.  
>Colonel Roy Mustang is both.<p>

Somewhere, Maes is alive. Whatever evil force that preyed upon him that night passed the phone booth by. He would never have been found in that phone booth, still warm in his own blood. Hughes places his call, hangs up in a fuss over being ignored by Mustang, and proceeds home, where Elicia and Gracia were waiting for him. His wide grin lights up the very air, and swinging Gracia into a hug _(kiss me, I love you, how was your day? Better, now that I'm home),_plays with Elicia until dinner. There's a second baby Hughes on the way, as well, but no one knows yet.

Elicia's always wanted a playmate.

Perhaps Roy stops in, and Riza too, saying a quick hello before returning to the office, or to her quarters, or his, in a grand display attempt to maintain the worst-kept secret around. Riza would pull little Elicia into her arms in an uncharacterisitc outward display of affection. Roy sighes a little, and Maes would notices how his friend's eyes soften at the sight, how they danced a little more in the dying light. He takes his chance to push, gently, at Mustang's reserves, convincing him that it was _okay_ to approach Riza, _okay_to want things selfishly every now and then. That it is indeed okay to tell her he loves her.

If things had been different, that is.

And, who knows what else? That's the funny thing about alternate realities. Perhaps Hughes and Gracia would have been hugging the Mustangs's daughter one day as well.

* * *

><p><em>AC: My own personal thoughts on "families" aside, this was surprisingly easy to write - probably because it's more angsty and lest family-y...-y.<br>I'm sorry I haven't updated in so long. My IB final exams have just started, and I'm really overwhelmed with studying for them all right now.  
>Rough seas ahead. Arrival in calmer waters projected for two weeks from now. Hang in there, everyone, I'll do the best that I can until then. Sorry if this is shoddy, I was a little rushed.<em>


	15. Mirror

_Disclaimer disclaimed. Had I created FMA, Armstrong would have baked as a hobby._

* * *

><p>15. Mirror<p>

* * *

><p>Roy stared for a moment at his rumpled reflection. "What're <em>you<em> looking at?" he muttered.  
>The reflection was unimpressed, frowning back before leaning forward to spitting foamy toothpaste into the marble sink.<p>

36 years ago, a small, raven-haired boy of approximately 4 had appeared at Madame Christmas's door, completely alone. He bore no earthy possessions, save for the clothes on his back, and the name _Roy Mustang _on a piece of paper in his ratty pocket.

_You've come a long way since those days_, the reflection commented.  
><em>But I don't deserve any of it,<em>he scowled in reply.

It had been only 28 years since the same boy, slightly older but much better kept, had followed a quiet little girl across the large, oak threshold belonging to the decrepit old house at the end of Wayfall street.

24 since joining the military.  
>20 since becoming a State Alchemist.<br>And only 15 since the Ishvalan war.

_Time passes so quickly_. Looking into the bathroom mirror, Mustang was forced to admit his age. He was no longer as spry as he once was. His pants fit a little tighter around the middle, and a few gray hairs peppered his previous inky mop. He frowned, and the stranger in the mirror frowned back.

Soft footsteps pattered into the empty space behind him. A patch of blonde hair was barely visible peeping out from behind his shoulders. "Are you almost ready? We're expected in 45 minutes."  
>"In a moment," distractedly, he squinted his eyes in the glass once more before sighing in defeat in his war against age. "Is Regina dressed?"<br>His wife wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her mouth against his bare back. "She's downstairs with Havoc, completely determined to make him bake cookies for breakfast." A light laugh reverberated against his skin. Suddenly, the salt-and-pepper hair and beginnings of aches in his joints didn't seem to matter.  
>He chuckled in response, truly smiling for the first time this morning. "I suppose that sweet tooth is <em>my<em> fault, isn't it." It wasn't a question.  
>"Patience is a virtue. She can have a piece of cake Grandfather brought after the crowning ceremony." Riza pushed up to her tiptoes to kiss his cheek firmly.<br>"Happy Birthday, Furher Mustang." 

* * *

><p><em>AC: Royai baby is named Regina. Yes GOOD.<br>I actually have a rocky relationship with little children and can't see myself having them (much less being a good mother), but they're cute when they're imaginary.  
><em>  
><em>Sorry I haven't updated in so long. IB exams took up a lot of my time, BUT they're FINALLY over.<br>Today is the last day of high school, too.  
>Sniff sniff.<em>

_Thank you to the reviewers who stopped in while I was gone! If I didn't get a message to you personally, it doesn't mean I didn't appreciate it: it just means I can't remember how many I've sent out so far, so here's a general "thank you" for your kind words.  
><em>


	16. Red

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, but if I did, I would make Roy and Riza celebrate Royai day themselves, dammit._

* * *

><p><strong>16. Red<strong>

* * *

><p>"Leave it alone, Mustang."<p>

Roy frowned in disagreement. "Are you sure you don't want - "  
>"No."<p>

"But I - "

"_No._"

"Riza, if you - "

The young woman in question turned slowly on one heel, glaring daggers at the alchemist-in-training. "_Just_...leave it."

He gulped.

Summer in the Hawkeye mansion was no great change. Marked by only a sudden sharing of the housework between both Riza's and Roy's young shoulders, the rest of their small world remained the same. Berthold took meals in his study as he did during the rest of the year, Roy continued to study his limited alchemy (when he wasn't washing dishes) and Riza nabbed moments for herself in the garden, away from her father's suffocating presence. Mustang, though still a relatively new member of the household, had quickly become a dear friend of the young lady's.

Though that wouldn't spare him from her wrath now.

The frowned deepened and gave way to a pitiable, guilt-ridden sigh. Pitiable, that is, to everyone but Miss Hawkeye. "Please, Riza, let me at least try to fix it."

She regarded him with a cold glare. "You were trying to 'fix' it when this," she gestured measuredly towards the small kitchen alcove, "happened. No. There will be no more of your 'fixing' with ill-practiced alchemy." Walking towards the room in question, she sent one final glare towards the culprit, and, descending back into her normal, quiet shell, vanished, leaving Roy to contemplate his mistakes alone.

It really had been quite an impressive spectacle. Lunch had been taking longer than usual, and Roy, ever-ready to put his 'ill-practiced' alchemy to use, took the opportunity to practice an elementary heating command on Riza's gift of cherry pie. And, like most beginning cooks, he forgot to check the time. It hadn't been long before there was cherry concentrate everywhere. The table, the oven, the cabinets; ceiling to floor, streaked with sticky red juice. To make matters worse, the pie had been special; a gift from a kindly street vendor during the monthly market -run weeks ago, coveted and saved for a worthy occasion.

As he surveyed the wreckage, Roy breathed another heavy sigh. _Well, at least now I know at what temperature cherries explode._ What he needed to know, however, couldn't be found in the red blobs dripping from the ceiling on unlucky passerbys. What he needed to know was going to have to be estimated. An uneducated guess.

Roy _hated_ guessing.

Thankfully, Riza hadn't gone straight to cleaning the larger mess as she had threatened. The tell-tale sound of clattering plates coming from the dining alcove led him to believe she was taking care of the soiled dishes - and other scattered accoutrements - before delving into the brunt of the work. Practically, it made sense to start small.

And Riza was nothing, if not practical.

A door creaked open behind him. "I have to run into town for a few minutes," Roy knew without looking the tight, worried expression currently plaguing her face, "Father will be expecting dinner soon, and the salt has been soiled with cherry paste. Please," the slight brushing of her dress against the curtains made a gentle, soothing whooshing sound, and clashed with her exhausted, heavy steps, "don't..touch anything until I get back. ...I'll take care of it."

The knot of guilt in Roy's stomach tripled, and he wrung the wet towel in his hands worriedly.

There would be no alchemy, not now. He would either fix this the right way, or it would mean nothing to the girl he wanted so badly to please.

He only hoped he had enough time.

* * *

><p>Peonies. Definitely peonies.<p>

The house smelled again, though of what, Riza couldn't be sure. Cherries, obviously, but underneath the overpowering reek of toasted fruit, there was a faint, more gentle scent. It reminded her of the flowers growing in the garden, of summer.

_But why would there be peonies in the house? Unless... _

The only explanation was that Roy had been up to something while she was gone, most likely alchemy-related. His obsession with the art had reached monumental proportions when he used it to try and warm dessert - something Riza could have just as easily done with a hot plate. _That idiot is becoming more trouble than he's worth_, she grumbled, depositing her groceries in the foyer and proceeding towards the kitchen. Pushing on the door, she called out, "Mr. Roy Mustang, if you've been messing with alchemy again and wrecked something else as a result, I'm going to...". The threat was left in the open air, unfinished, as Riza took in the sight before her. There wasn't a trace of red anywhere in the previously soiled room. Laying on the table were a few old candles (pilfered from her father's personal supply, most likely), and a bouquet of red peonies, tied with a purple ribbon. Roy Mustang, cherry-cooker extraordinaire, was standing off to the right, dressed as formally as their meager living allowed. Tell-tale red stains on his fingertips and palms told her everything she needed to know about how the room came to be in its much improved state.

He smiled sheepishly at her obvious surprise. "I take it you like it, then." His toe scuffed the ground for a moment. "I'm...sorry for the mess before. Really. You shouldn't have had to worry about anything today. Well, you shouldn't have to worry about anything ever, but not today, especially not today, and I'm..." he trailed off, embarrassed. Amber eyes met obsidian in a reassuring, grateful gaze. There were no words exchanged, but everything was said in a kiss on the forehead, and a slight blush from the lady. She wiped a bit of cherry concentrate from where it clung to his cheek, and placed soft lips on the stain.

It was the best apology Riza had ever received.

And a wonderful birthday present, too.

* * *

><p><em>AC: Happy Royai Day! This is my first ever Royai day, and lemme tell ya what, it really snuck up on me. So, instead, I'm celebrating Royai week. Expect several more updates to this fic, and a downloadable Royai playlist on Em (wingpoints) and I's FMA blog ( acarfullofflowers . tumblr . com)<em>

I think I caught all the FF Document Editor's mistakes, but if I didn't, you know what to do. Thanks for reading!


	17. Death

_Disclaimer: I do not own FMA or the characters, because if I did, there would have been a longer epilogue._

* * *

><p>"<em>Childhood is the kingdom in which nobody dies<em>."

Lt. Hawkeye snorted. If that's the case, then she had never been a child.

Death permeated her memories, beginning with the death of an unknown mother. Even the departure of Father's pupil had been a death of sorts (since death is, fundamentally, merely separation on the grandest scale). By the time her father finally drove himself to his own early grave, death hardly seemed unnatural. People were born, and then they died. They were here, and then they weren't. It was not abnormal, it was not tragic; it just was. It could not be stopped any more than the setting of the sun each evening.

Little Ms. Riza Hawkeye had, ironically, quite possibly the best relationship with natural death that a young person _could_ have. And as a result, she held no qualms when she followed Mr. Mustang into military service. He was all she had then, after all. Why would death scare her away?

_Of course there would be death. Wherever there was life, there was always death._

But she had never seen death as Ishval saw death.

What began as an occupation quickly escalated into a massacre. None were spared. The red eyes of the slain mingled with red blood. This was a sick, unnatural face of death, one she was unfamiliar with. A gun didn't leave the feel of a man dying in your hands, but it left a hollowed out space in your heart.

In the end, it was a child that broke her. The death of a little boy, possibly white haired, possible blonde, at her hands.

Riza had been awake for many hours, keeping vigil near the long-cold body.

_Why?_ She asked Death as he shuffled through his rounds. _You were not cruel to my mother, my father. Why this horror? Why?_

_I don't know. I don't call the shots_. Death picked its teeth with a toothpick and casually crushed it under his misty foot. Sweeping the small blonde boy's soul up from the ground, it shrugged._It's just my job._

_But you should have seen the man I picked up last week. His soul met me sitting up. That – _Death smiled. _– that was a man worth his salt._

Something inside the young sharpshooter boiled. _Worth his salt?_ She snapped._ How can you be so casual about this bloodbath! Innocent men and women are dying at the hands of soldiers who don't know any be–_

_Innocent men and women die every day, child, on their own and at the hands of others._ Death snapped back. _This boy, for example, _it gestured to the sleeping, shadowy soul tucked under his right arm. _This boy died never knowing was a kiss felt like. Of course, that didn't stop the girl from crying over him for hours._

_Did he deserve to die? No.  
>But he died anyway. I am haunted by you humans.<em>

_I can't do anything about this massacre. _Death walked a few paces away, disappearing into the night's haze. _But you will._

That night, it rained.

True to prediction, after the Ishvalan conflict, she and Colonel Mustang did everything in their power to set right their crimes against the Ishvalan people and construct a government that cared for the people. They both lived long lives, long enough to become the Fuhrer and wife, for children, for grandchildren; for many years, death was absent from her routine, and she was glad.

After the funeral, elderly Mrs. Riza Mustang sat for many hours, alone, save for the body of a man loved by many. The dry night air reminded her of another vigil she had kept, and a conversation with an old, shadowy friend.

_Be nice,_ she chided her husband. _It's just its job._

She could almost see Roy's soul meet Death sitting up. 

* * *

><p><em>AC: I hope you read "The Book Thief", because Death, Rudy Steiner's crossover death, and a few other references are directly pulled from that novel, and this AU drabble is much more feely if you get them.<br>_

_**TBT and Drabble Spoiler**_:_ For example, Rudy was the Ishvalan Riza shot in this crossover._

_If you haven't, go read it. Now. It's the only book I recommend that everyone read, because it will break you then make your entire life._


	18. Banana Pancakes

_Disclaimer: I do not own FMA or any of the characters, and nor do I pretend to, because if I did, the latter scene would have been a reality we saw in the credits after the Promised Day Arc. /sobs/_

* * *

><p><strong>18. Banana Pancakes <strong>

* * *

><p>A piercing yowl broke the early morning's haze, jarring Riza from where she lay tangled still in rumpled sheets. her hands already flying to the gun stowed safely near her lamp. "What in bloody…" Recognition dawned as words distinguished themselves from the cacophony. It was only Hayate, and….a loud, male voice, crooning an old tune in a key inhuman.<p>

_"Can't you see that it's just raini- AAROOOOHOOOOHOO -"  
><em>_"OOORROOOORO- ain't no need to go outside..."_

Riza shook her head, chuckling, as she made her way slowly down the stairs. "Since when are _you_ up this early?" The wooden slats creaked softly under her bare feet, signaling rapidly changing humidity, predicting a summer storm on the rise.  
>Breaking from the chorus to offer her a firm kiss, the tousled-haired man held up the bowl he so proudly cradled for her to sniff. "Since Chris left her cookbook here last night after bringing over soup for our favorite invalid. <em>Surely<em> you wouldn't complain about my comandeering of your kitchen when offered a batch of her _famous_ banana pancakes."

Hawkeye's smile slipped slightly as she peered dubiously at his handiwork. "Maybe not when offered a batch of _Madame Christmas's_ pancakes, but _yours_-" Bleary-eyed Riza yawned involuntarily. "-..…how_ late_ have I slept in?" Roy smiled more softly, gently placing a cup of coffee in her hands. "It's nearly 9 o'clock, Hawkeye. But you can't rush yourself, your body's still recovering from food poisoning - and it'll take it's time, whether _you_ like it or not."

Frowning again (and stifling another yawn) Riza opened her mouth to protest - only to find a spoon of sugary, warm batter resting on her tongue instead. _He_ tilted his head expectently and grinned, despite the furrow quickly etching itself on her forehead. "Good, no?"

"_Mmmphm_- no! _Colonel_ -"

" - you mean _Roy_ - "

"_Roy_. We can't _both_ be absent from the office today, and you know it." The room felt too chilly for Riza's liking suddenly, and she shivered in her thin summer nightclothes. Hayate whimpered at her feet as a quiet tremor crept over her fever-wrecked body. Roy paid no mind, however, to her increasingly stern tone, and moved to flip the finished pancaked from the stove onto the late Mrs. Hawkeye's old china instead - a small piece of Riza's life before the military. The _only_ reminder left, other than he himself.

"I know," he admitted, resting a hand on the small of her back, guiding her to the couch, "but I'm not going to leave you here all alone, either. Not like this. What happens if you get sick again?"

The ill woman allowed herself to be consoled, but not deterred. "I've managed myself when under the weather before, Colonel."

"I know you have. But even so," Roy kissed her once more on the forehead before meeting her eyes in a desperate plea. "You've guarded my life daily for years. Just_ rest_ now." He chuckled bitterly for a moment, eyes growing dark as he remembered finding her, pale and on the verge of unconsciousness, at the military dinner. "Hell, it was in protecting me you received the food poisoning in the first place. So _please, _Riza," he murmured. His fingers _warm, so warm_ against her cheek. "for today, at least - allow _me_ to look after _you_."

* * *

><p><em>AC: AU in which Jack Johnson exists. My world has yummy music. ALSO I'M BACK, I'VE MISSED YOU ALL. And while I'm not the best communicator, and I'm not very good at consistency, I still apologize for the long hiatus. Things in my family have been rough lately, and I've been feeling physically down with wisdom teeth removal pains, so all the happy, blissful writing time I thought I'd have hasn't really been here. <em>

_It's miraculous I managed to write something sweet, as opposed to just angst. _

_(side note: TDKR was amazing. You should all go see it)_

_Anyway, I'm still receiving your reviews. Thank you for your undying support and critiques - I apologize for not being better with the individualized thank-you's. They're coming, I swear._

_One final note - This was my last saved theme! And, seeing as how I've sworn to complete all 100 even in the face of hell or high water, I'm going to need more. So, here's your chance: **if you have a word, or a small phrase, that you want me to conjure up a Royai scene around, send it in to either my tumblr ask box ( .com) or my fanfiction mailbox!** _


	19. Dark Sides

_Disclaimer disclaimed, baby._

* * *

><p>19. <strong>Dark Sides<strong>

* * *

><p>"<strong>Darkness cannot drive out darkness - "<strong>**  
><strong>  
>She had never seen him like this.<p>

Never before had he raved so rabidly, never in their past, together or apart, had he roared in this inhuman voice.

Never before had Roy Mustang been so far, far away.

Envy, the homunculus responsible for the death of Maes Hughes – and for this painful crumbling of a soul who'd once dreamed of a future free of tortures - writhed and cackled in sadistic pleasure, screaming oaths of vengeance against the Colonel in one breath only to wail wordlessly in pain as his tongue bubbled hotly, useless.

It would heal. And it would burn again. Colonel Mustang glared first to her, then at the homunculus.  
><em>"…what in the hell do you think you're doing to my Lieutenant?!"<em>

The justice he sought could not be found in the roasting flesh before their eyes. Healing did not lay on that path.

Only destruction.

Only darkness.

"- **and hate cannot drive out hate - "**

But without him, how could they continue? This was not the man she knew, no – it was a puppet, surely, created by some homunculus's trickery. _Her _Roy was hidden somewhere, safely, trapped within the looming shadows around his heart and mind. Believing he was beyond saving was not a possibility she wanted to entertain, but she would, levelling her gun to his inky hair.

_"But I've finally caught him!"  
><em>  
>A desperate plea for water to soothe the burns of his soul, and, were he to turn and face her, the plea would be echoed in her eyes, amplified by the self <em>she<em> remembered, the self he seemed to have abandoned easily, as if shrugging off a winter coat. Death would dawn before she allowed this monster, this shadow, to consume him body and soul. It was her duty to protect him from himself. To guard him from the darker side of human nature.

Surely, he would see how he was falling away.

_Click._

…surely, she would die, too.

"**- only love can do that."**

The brick was still warm beneath their knees, the stench of burned flesh permeating the air, mingling with the sweeter sound of his apology. It'd taken time, but he had returned to himself. This beast had not swallowed him whole. Not now, and not ever, would the Colonel fall prey to his rage.

"_I can't lose you too."_

Meeting his repentant, grateful gaze silently, Riza noticed an unshed wetness to his eyelashes – tears, not of sadness, but of despairing understanding: Roy Mustang had returned. But he would carry these deeds with him for the rest of his life. As she bore her visible scars, he would burn his own darkness silently, perpetually, regretfully, within his heart.

But thankfully, as she surreptitiously squeezed his still-gloved hand, neither would fight their demons alone.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AC:<strong> The last "Dark Sides" was rotten. I didn't like it. Have this one instead.  
><em>  
><em>I know I've written on his interactions with Envy before in this set, but I'm personally intrigued by the idea of vengeance as a scarring mechanism. I mean, yeah, we see Roy stop before he's lost forever, but we don't see how he will be haunted continuously by the knowledge that he was so, so close to becoming the very thing he hated, for the rest of his life. You don't just almost cross a line and then are hunky-dory as soon as you're safe. It doesn't work like that.<em>

_You relive your sins in future silence. Every moment. In shame._

And mad cred to MLK Jr. for the bolded quote that tipped off this rewrite.

_(**Edit:** A huge and public thank you to EllieStone, who's literally been a guiding light in this fanfiction. Offering great constructive criticism, moral support, internet hugs, fabulous friendship, cries over the OTP of all OTPs, and - I kid you not - reviewing every chapter._

_You're great, baby. Thank you.)_


	20. Her

20. Her

* * *

><p>"Colonel,"<em> Tap-tap.<em> "…Colonel Mustang."

Roy grunted an unintelligible reply, vying for the convincing disguise of falling asleep on the mounds of paperwork cluttering his desk. After a moment, he heard the Lieutenant sigh and walk away. Though they both knew _she_ knew he was awake, even the infamously strict Riza Hawkeye was merciful on Monday mornings.

Peering out from behind cracked lids at her retreating back, a small, buzzing twinge of something warm settled within his chest, blazing between his tingling stomach and fluttering heart. Roy's heart began to race, unbidden – love for the woman with the tattooed back; hate for the man who had put them there. He understood why she had accepted her father's burden all too well. A misplaced sense of duty, devotion to family, a grave understanding of what terrible power Flame Alchemy could create...Roy shuddered. Ishval didn't need to be relived. Not now. Not while such a soft smile grazed her lips, or while the sun illuminated her hair in a brilliant halo.

Never again would another woman exist exactly as_ she_ did. Quiet light infused every inch of her being: light that quickly became passionate heat glaring through a rifle sight, a warm caress in times of trouble, and strength when everything around them seemed to be made of glass.

Her luminescence permeated every corner of the room, seeping beneath his skin and deep within his bones – a fire, warming him from within. Her eyes were the first fire he had ever known; blazing and burning straight into his heart - oh, how he'd love to be devoured by them. By **_her_**. _  
><em>

"Riza?" he breathed.

But she had already gone.

* * *

><p><strong>AC:<strong> Remember me? I have no excuses to offer that you haven't already heard. Real life stress, graduation, family issues, yadda yadda. Have another drabble, because I'm back to see this through. If you're still there, that is. Honestly this probably sucks a lot of ass. OH WELL.


End file.
